Sight
by Ghani Hwi
Summary: Fini. Legolas returns to Mirkwood at the end of the wars to reclaim the life he once lived in peace. He finds however, that some things are not as they seem secrets whispered in the dark elude his grasp. Only his sight can save those he loves.
1. Treneren Narnen

**~*~**This may take a moment to explain- but trust me- you'll want to read it:**~*~**

~First, about the story: It is divided into very small chapters for a reason- I read stories easier when they are divided into small, small, pieces and I know many people who prefer them that way as well. When in smaller portions on a computer monitor, the stories don't seem like such a daunting piece of literature to read- and therefore are more enjoyable. Have no fear however, this story is complete~! Not all parts will be posted at once however, to allow for different people to read the story.

~I might as well place an Alternate Universe label on this story for reasons which will become obvious as the story progresses. This is not a Mary-Sue, in fact, the main character of the story is Legolas himself.

~Reviews: Are wanted but I will not beg for them and if you don't like the story- please tell me why, don't just flame me without giving me logical reasons. Trust me, you really cannot hurt my feelings- please tell me if you have arguments with my storyline or characters! (Now- to narrow that down a bit- I have to give the elves in this story a few "mortal" characteristics- like envy, hate, etc. These attributes, while uncommon amongst elves, are not unheard of- a la Feanor…so no flames about making the elves too "human-like".)

~Oh, yes, almost forgot to mention that my last name is not Tolkien- I humbly revere the master who created these worlds and I write only out of respect and admiration for his work. Well, that about wraps the scene~  

**"Trenerin narnen…"**

The end had come. It had come without a herald, without a flourish; it had come with the cold sighs of destiny the depthless black eyes of death. Regrets? Did he have any? He didn't think so- only…

He hadn't expected it to turn out this way. Perhaps that wasn't correct- he hadn't hoped it would turn out this way. Yet…yet she had seen it, she had known it all along. Hadn't she warned him? Hadn't she shown him? He couldn't remember now…now it didn't seem so terribly important. He had never considered himself a breakable or emotional man; his truer self had been shown only to one other throughout the whole of his life. The thought of that man he had been and the reality of the man he had become brought tears of mirth weighed with humility. A crying, broken man he sat, watching the bright redness about him grow greater and greater.

            Where had he mislaid his judgment? When had his calculations coldly turned their accusing fingers towards him? When had the end begin rolling towards him with the subtle ferocity of a growing wave in the ocean? 

            Perhaps he was wrong in those answers as well- perhaps the story began before he had even recognized what was building about him and biding its time; waiting for his weakest moment to strike with a fury none could withstand. Hadn't it all started upon that summer's day when he discovered her? Or had the seeds been planted many years before that day…before the eyes of Írime had opened and seen…seen…the end.

            He had returned from the wars a hero amongst those of his father's realm. With triumph and pride he had ridden through the city gates, basking in the glow of the afternoon sun and secretly thinking it shone for him alone. The evening had been bright and his mind had been elsewhere…dwelling upon his own victories, laden with his own thoughts of home and the love he had left behind so long ago. Was it then that the gyre had opened? That the abyss had begun to swallow him without a sound or cry for help?

~*~


	2. Min

Min 

            "My Lord, so good to see you home." Nevturar, a handsome peasant youth, had run to the side of the prince almost immediately upon his entering the gates of the city. Youthful eagerness pulled his face into a grotesque smile as he waited for acknowledgement from the prince. Receiving none and following his mandate to assist the prince he reached for the reigns of his magnificent chestnut steed, which Legolas was quick to pull away.

            "Bide your time! Let me enjoy this parade in my honor and meet me at the stables. There you may care for Ruinfëa." He turned the horse sharply and began to float his way through the throngs of cheering people. Nevturar's smile flickered and a touch of color rose into his cheeks as he lowered his eyes and stepped to the side, allowing room for the caravan of merrymaking townspeople who were following the prince to continue on their way. He waited until the last of the revelers passed from sight before trotting off towards the stables.

            For Legolas, the servant was forgotten almost immediately as he returned his eyes to the decorations and the colorful crowds about him. They clambered to be nearer, all shouting his name and clapping their hands with joy, each face bright with enthusiasm and hope. They had had precious little to be joyful for over the past year and now their pent-up rapture was pouring sheer electricity into the air and giving an excitement to the approaching evening.

            With the songs of thousands he entered the palace gates, to be met by his own familiar courtyard resplendent in lights and ribbons and music. The warm smell of cooking meat wafted from open fires and curled towards the sky in blue-gray smoke rings. The ground was covered in sweet smelling flower petals and above the festivities gently billowed a sheer canvas of pale blue color. The setting for a feast the likes of which had never been seen before sprawled out in every direction from the main tent- every rolling hill of the palace garden was covered with tables and food aplenty, simply waiting for the entire kingdom to rejoice as one.

            "Master Legolas, welcome home." A dark-haired elf Lord came to the Prince's side and brushed the petals with his fingertips as he fell into a low bow. He righted himself and smiled at the prince- a grin that Legolas knew all too well.

            "Master Araorë!" Legolas quickly dismounted and embraced his friend, smiling and realizing all in a rush how much he had truly missed his home. Araorë clapped him on the shoulder and together they made their way towards the front steps of the palace, where patiently stood King Thranduil and the Lady Carandoliel waiting for Legolas' arrival. As they walked, they spoke with their heads close together like two conspirators as the crowd still boisterously clapped and sung about them.

            "And what…noble actions have you busied yourself with since my departure? None too risqué I hope…" Araorë felt a rush of color rise up to the base of his neck at Legolas' teasing. He knew the prince was fully aware of his quiet, almost isolated lifestyle and yet, he never lost a chance to jest with him about it. 

Araorë had lived in the kingdom of King Thranduil ever since he was a small boy. Having been born into a noble family he was privileged, after his father's death at the hand of an orc, to have been raised alongside the young Prince of Greenwood. 

            Throughout their youth, Legolas had always been the more adventurous of the two and it was a safe guess that when they were caught (as they often were) in the thick of a mess, that the young prince had been the schemer and Araorë the silent accomplice. He and Legolas had been great friends and together they had built a lasting friendship that, as the years went by and Araorë mysteriously retreated into himself, became his only link to the outside world. 

As they had grown older, their interests had diverged, taking them down different paths, but keeping within sight of each other all the same. When Legolas had taken up knives and swords, Araorë had picked up quills and manuscripts, applying his time to the study of the ancients. He had been appointed to the King's court and had settled in quite comfortably amongst his silent and only companions- his books.

            "Still working with the manuscripts?" Legolas reached down and picked up Araorë's right hand, smeared with ink and calloused by long tedious hours of writing. He laughed and showed his friend his own hands, rough and worn by his bow and reigns.

            "You see? Still like brothers!" They both grinned and turned their eyes towards the palace entryway, which still stood quite a distance away considering the crowd they were obliged to cut through.

            "…And Carandoliel? How has she fared these long months?" Legolas' voice was suddenly urgent and heavy and his eyes held nothing of the joviality he had spoken with only moments ago. Araorë stole a glance towards the steps where the lady in question now stood by the side of the king before turning his dark gray eyes towards his friend again. Legolas was almost breathless with anxiety and Araorë could tell that his next words had to be chosen carefully, so no misunderstanding or confusion could come of them.

            "The Lady has fared them well my Lord…as well as a maiden in love can." Legolas' face brightened and Araorë felt his breath run out in a sigh of relief. His friend's smile was healthier than he had seen it in a long time.

            "Then she still waits for me?"

            "Without doubt." 


	3. Tâd

**Tâd**

Amidst the din of the massing people there emerged the two friends, laughing as well with the revelers and joining in the last of a victory song as they paused for a moment at the base of the stairway. As the last refrains of the song died into silence, all eyes turned towards the prince and his companion.

For his part, Araorë looked up at the Lady Carandoliel- her dark green eyes never for a moment leaving the prince. The delicate lines of her cheeks opened up into a smile none could mistake- a smile of the most absolute and relieved happiness. Araorë turned to his friend, and found the Lady's smile reflected upon his face as well. 

            All spoke of her as the Lady Carandoliel, although by birthright she had no claim to nobility. Raised as the daughter of a blacksmith, she had made her company amongst those of the lower classes. From her earliest youth her beauty had been exquisite, even when it was cleverly hidden beneath soot and ash. 

When her father had been commissioned to forge a set of practice knives for the novice prince, Carandoliel had begged to take them to the palace. Ever since her childhood the splendor of the royal dwelling had fascinated her- and her father could deny her nothing. 

            Upon climbing the same steps on which she know stood, happenstance had brought the prince to her, and from there fate had weaved them together inseparably. From their earliest courtship, the whole of the kingdom had been entranced by Carandoliel's simplicity and grace, and as for Legolas, he had never known such happiness. They had been joined together upon the eve of the New Year, mere months before trouble had begun stirring in the south. 

            When the dark times had descended upon the kingdom, Carandoliel had waited patiently in the background, careful not to be bothersome as Thranduil decided what was to be done. His decision to send Legolas however, had broken her heart and in the privacy of her own chambers she had wept bitterly and fearfully, desiring nothing more than to see him alive and well as she regretfully cursed Thranduil for sending him away.   

            Now she stood at the side of the king, her face no longer sad with tears but bright and clean, and her slender frame wrapped in an exquisite emerald gown. At first time stood still as she and the prince looked at each other, as though they feared shattering the perfect moment. Then, all in a rush, Carandoliel fairly flew down the stairs to meet Legolas as he began to clamber upwards. They met at the center to an uproar from the crowd.

            "How now my love?" Legolas looked deeply into her eyes before smiling and placing a kiss upon her forehead. She laughed as tears began to run down her face and through her giddiness she replied:

            "I am well my Lord. I missed you so." Without much thought for decorum or the eyes of the kingdom which were now upon him, Legolas deeply kissed Carandoliel, discontent to wait until they were in a more private setting. Her eyes opened wide with surprise but her own happiness overcame her shy nature as she responded to the kiss and wrapped her arms about his neck. When they parted, Legolas turned to see Araorë, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, standing just to his left.

            "Well my Lord, you were never one to stand upon ceremony. Let us hope greeting your father will not be such a spectacle." Legolas laughed and kissed Carandoliel lightly upon her check before starting up the remaining stairs towards his father. Thranduil had drawn himself up into his full stature- a commanding and practical man he was nevertheless kind and gentle with his judgments- but when he towered as he did now, Legolas knew that something was troubling him. However, he had painted a smile across his face and when he embraced his son, the thankfulness Legolas felt was genuine. 

            "It makes my heart glad to see you again, my son, and I see that I am not the only one." He turned his warm smile to Carandoliel, who was blushing furiously. Together they turned towards the anxious crowd, Legolas arm in arm with Carandoliel and to his side his father and his best friend. Thranduil raised his hands in a silencing manner and motioned towards the softly billowing tent.

            "May the celebration begin to welcome my son home!" His voice filled the air and was rejoined with the thunderous approval of the hoi polloi. The foursome turned around to enter the palace and prepare for the evening when they were stopped short by a messenger who was quite excited and out of breath. In an unorthodox way, he addressed himself not to the King, but to Araorë, speaking in gasps as he grabbed his side and tried to fill his burning lungs with air.

            "She…she has awoken…come…come quickly!" Araorë's eyes shifted uncomfortably as he excused himself without explanation and went off at a quick trot towards the left wing of the castle. Legolas' brow fell into a furrow and upon turning to his father, he found the same frustration apparent there.

            "Do you know of whom he speaks?" Thranduil's eyes darkened and Legolas noticed that his lips seemed to have grown thinner. He turned his eyes towards the eastern façade of the palace where Araorë disappeared, apparently not desiring to speak of the mystery guest at the present moment. Instead, he forced another smile and turned towards Carandoliel who had slipped into her submissive silence in the presence of the King.

            "Tonight is a night of rejoicing. Let us save affairs of business until the morrow." With that he gave them another weak smile and walked off towards the palace with his shoulders slumped in a melancholy way. Utterly confused Legolas turned towards Carandoliel, his last chance for explanation. Her eyes however, were concernedly following the retreating King.

~*~


	4. Neled

Neled 

            "A song! A song my Lord! Give us another!" Legolas walked out into the cool night air, leaving the sounds of laughter and singing behind him. The moon was waxing full and the cloudless night had given her full leave to color the lawn brilliantly. He turned his eyes towards the palace and thought back to earlier that afternoon, when that messenger had run up. What had he said to Araorë? 

{He is awake…come quickly? No…no she was awake…she.}

            "My Lord?" Carandoliel emerged from the tent as well, cloaked in a burgundy cape lined in soft fur. She waited behind Legolas, not wanting to disturb his privacy if he so desired it. 

            "Yes Carandoliel? Has the singing begun again?" She walked up to his side and rested her head upon his shoulder; he in turn wrapped an arm about her shoulders, drawing her body closer to his own. Carandoliel looked up at the sky and fixed her gaze upon the milky white moon.     

            "Of course my Lord. We have had so little to celebrate I fear your father will have quite a sight to greet his eyes upon the morning. It is so wonderful for your people to see you alive." Legolas smiled and turned his face down towards hers. She was no longer watching the moon in the sky, but in his eyes.

            "Are they the only ones so pleased to see me?" He leaned down and kissed her lightly, feeling her lips turn up into a smile as he did so.

            "No my Lord. Not the only ones." He smiled as well, but it quickly faded as he felt his eyes being dragged back towards the eastern wing. Carandoliel nestled tightly into his shoulder and followed his gaze.

            "Why are you allowing that to trouble you on such a happy night?" Her intuition had always amused Legolas as it did now and he thought to answer her honestly but found that even he could not place his finger upon what was bothering him. The creases in his forehead deepened as he tried to gather his thoughts and remember all that had happened at the top of the stairs.

            "There was something…something that I missed. Something was wrong with the way that servant appeared." Then suddenly, a small flicker was fanned into a flame in the recesses of his mind and he realized what was troubling him.

            "He was holding his side." Legolas spoke the words as though he had just discovered the key linchpin in a seemingly perfect story. Carandoliel felt like smiling at his foolishness but decided against it and spoke as seriously as she could.

            "He had been running, his side was hurting because he could not breathe fast enough…nothing more." At this Legolas pushed away from her slightly and placed his hand upon her chest just below her left breast.

            "You breathe from here, correct?" Carandoliel felt her face flush hot at his touch and tried to remove his hand to his stubborn refusal as he repeated his question. 

            "Yes of course!" She exclaimed exasperatedly, hoping no one was watching their little scene. He slid his hand down her side until it rested just above her hips and nearly touched the small of her back.

            "Then why was he holding his side here? Unless…" He let his hand drop and fell into silence. Carandoliel's own idea was kindled as she put her hand where Legolas had laid his own.

            "Unless he was hurt…really hurt. Like a cut or a whelp…" She spoke with uncertainty, for although it solved the riddle of Legolas' euphoria, it did little to shine any light upon the larger problem.

            "I realized as much as well…but what could they be keeping? An animal? If so, why was my father so reluctant to speak about it?" His head began to ache and he realized that the night of celebrating was quickly turning to the morn. Dismissing the thoughts for a later time he offered Carandoliel his arm and escorted her into the palace.

            Upon entering, thoughts of their earlier conversation slipped from his mind and he found himself marveling at Carandoliel's beauty in the soft candlelight. Her eyes captured the orange glow inside of the palace and drew him closer towards her.

            "Do you love me?" The question caught her off guard and for a heavy moment there was silence as she fixed her intense green eyes upon him.

            "Without question my Lord."

            "Enough love to…last…for all time?" He reached down and picked up her small hand, cupping it within his own. Her fingers were soft against his calloused skin and for a moment he thought to withdraw his hand, but she wrapped her fingers through his and held them tightly.

            "My love is constant and never-changing. I shall love you until the seas and mountains are no more." She brought his hand up to her mouth and kissed his rough and tired hands with her warm lips.

            "Then you do not regret your choice?" His insecurity was set to ease the moment she looked into his eyes. She need not answer, instead she tucked herself once again against his shoulder and together they made their way towards their bedchamber. 


	5. Canad

Canad 

The night had waned into morning by the time Legolas and Carandoliel retired for a few hours sleep. Despite the soft glow of morning sunlight which was stubbornly pouring through the arched windows, Legolas had no trouble in quickly dropping off into a dreamless sleep.

            When he awoke in the early hours of the afternoon, Carandoliel was no longer beside him in their bed. He heard the distant sound of her soft humming and realized she must be bathing. Shaking off the last of his tiredness he arose and dressed, calling to Carandoliel that he would meet her in the Great Hall after he had something to eat.

            The castle was alive with hustle; servants were running to and fro gathering stray revelers and cleaning up the remains of the feast. Legolas made his way past the commotion and headed for the dining hall, where a light lunch had been prepared and was waiting for him.

            "Good afternoon Master Legolas."

            "Araorë!" He took a seat across from the prince and smiled with what Legolas perceived to be a slight hesitancy. He noticed as well that Araorë had neither bathed nor changed from the clothes he had worn the day before.

            "Where were you last night? I did not see you about the festivities at all!" Araorë shifted uncomfortably and turned his eyes towards the doors leading to the passageway.

            "I was…otherwise occupied. But I trust you did not need my presence to keep the celebration lively?" He forced a smile that Legolas found somewhat disquieting. Something was troubling Araorë behind his large gray eyes, something was distracting his mind.

            "I should have liked it all the same. Tell me…where were you last night?" At this Araorë's distraction blossomed into indignant nervousness and for the first time in all their long years as friends, he spoke to Legolas with the unmistakable bite of rudeness in his voice.

            "It is none of your concern Legolas. You would do well to leave me to my own affairs." Silence fell like a hammer at the end of his remark and Legolas could think of nothing to say. He did not desire to engage in an argument with Araorë, he had not really meant to put him on his defensive guard. 

The food in front of him was all but forgotten as his natural curiosity flooded every vein in his body. What was this secret that was so deftly being hidden underneath his very nose? He would commission his father for answers, but in the meantime he thought he would make a diplomatic attempt to salvage a decent conversation from Araorë and allow him room to unruffle his feathers. 

            "I meant nothing by it. Your affairs are your own, forgive me my prying." Araorë visible loosened as he forced a smile that did not extend to his eyes.

            "Quite forgiven my friend."

~*~


	6. Leben

**Leben**

               "My Lord." Carandoliel had found him in the passageway in front of a set of ornate doors that led into an antechamber of the main dining hall. He seemed to be tracing the lines of two meticulously carved trees with his eyes. The dark flesh of the wood had been etched and edged with caring hands when the palace was first being cut into the rock many, many years ago. Legolas now stood transfixed as the designs and patterns seemed to calm his mind.

            "You are still troubled. What is the matter Legolas?" Hearing his proper name brought him out of his trance as he recognized the deep concern in her voice. Watching the emotions behind her irises only confirmed his suspicions.

            "I am merely concerned for Araorë…he acted most strangely just a few moments ago." Carandoliel's eyes fell to the floor for a moment, and then quickly returned to his face with something new now burning inside of them. Legolas could not place the emotion at first, and then, with a startling realization he recognized what it was…fear, no…terror. 

            "What is it? Why am I being told nothing?" He unconsciously grabbed her upper arm roughly and shook her slightly. Carandoliel's lips remained set for a moment before she spoke quietly and quickly, as though she feared the walls about them would hear her words.

            "Something is happening. It started only a few weeks before you arrived. There were rumors…rumors of a stranger…I had seen or heard nothing amongst the courtiers, but the servants were speaking of it. Then, Araorë seemed to fall silent more often…he stopped taking his meals in the dining hall and instead ate in private…I think…" Here she paused, the fear in her eyes now wide and unmistakable. "I think he has something to do with this stranger…something to do with this woman the servants keep whispering about." She shuddered suddenly, as though a chill had run through her body and suddenly begged leave of the prince, claiming her head was aching. After eliciting a promise that she would join him for dinner, Legolas found himself more determined than ever to discover the truth about the happenings around his home. 

            He came to the main foyer of the palace and waited there for a moment. To his right and down towards the Western wing of the palace were his father's chambers, where he was certain to be found in the afternoons. To his left, the Eastern wing, and the answers to perhaps some, perhaps all of his questions. Back the way he came was a very cautious and unusually sallow Araorë and a very frightened Carandoliel.

            He turned on his heel and made his way down the hallway towards the East wing, the sound of his boot heels clicking the only noise.

~*~

            The Eastern wing of the palace had always been used to house guests and dignitaries. Legolas and Araorë hardly ever explored it during their childhood, for nothing of interest could be found that way. The wide halls were an endless repetition of tapestries and doorways, each door the same as the next, each woven arras more dull with progression. 

            As Legolas wandered this lonely hall he began to wonder how he should even know where to begin looking. Each large entryway was the exact same as the next and after a while he began to loose count of how many doors he had passed by. Perhaps he had walked right past the room he so desperately sought. Just when he had resigned and turned an about face an unearthly wail faintly wandered down the corridor and froze the blood in his veins.

            He quickly spun about, nearly upsetting a Numerian suit of armor, and madly ran towards the end of the hallway. The moan grew suddenly louder and then stopped altogether. He had lost the source of the sound, although he knew he had to be close. The nightmarish echoes kept reverberating in his head as he turned first to his right and then to his left, trying to pinpoint where he thought the sound had come from. Suddenly, something caught his eye and his breath stopped short in his throat. One of the wall hangings was slowly moving back and forth on an unseen breeze. Legolas glanced across the hall and noticed no windows or open doors through which a draft could escape. He walked to the edge of the tapestry and held his hand out. A soft, barely perceptible wind was flowing in from somewhere behind the material and with a firm thrust he threw the tapestry to the side and revealed a door hidden from view. Underneath the large mahogany door pale candlelight was escaping and a muffled cry emerged. 


	7. Eneg

Eneg    

He gripped the handle resolutely and then let it go as though it were white-hot. A scream, more human, yet piercing enough to hurt his ears split through the door and echoed down the hallway. It reminded Legolas of the shriek a rabbit gave when caught in a trap- a cry of exquisite pain.

            Legolas nervously turned to look over his shoulder, forgetting how far from the mainstream he was and how abandoned the eastern wing was. As an afterthought he reasoned that the hall must have been deserted for this very reason- the unsettling cries of whatever lay beyond this hidden door.

            With hesitancy this time, he lightly gripped the handle and pushed the door open, nearly screaming himself at the sight that met his eyes. If the room had ever held anything ornate or beautiful in it, it was no longer there. Every wall was flat and roughly cut from the rock, as though the room had been an oversight and had never been completed. The flat, gray stone color was broken only in patches by pale orange candlelight. There was nothing in the room save three stools and one bed- and it was the occupant of this bed that held Legolas' full attention.

            At first glance he thought the mysterious being was an animal. He realized why he had entered unnoticed by all present- every available pair of hands in the room was working to control the kicking, wailing mass of flesh upon the bed. Another scream, this one so painful Legolas had to cover his ears, erupted from the thrashing heap and a leg suddenly shot out from the heap- a human leg. It upset a small wooden stool and tossed it nearly all the way to the opposite wall. 

            "Grab her leg! Hold her! Hold her!!" One of the elves Legolas recognized as Andoion, the head of the house of healers. Assisting him, Legolas assumed, were two of his apprentices, one of whom had a serious cut from the bottom lobe of his left ear down the length of his face and nearly to his chin. All three of their faces were beaded with sweat and for a moment, Legolas was certain that whomever was being wrestled down was about to win out. Then suddenly, the writhing mass came to a full and abrupt stop, leaving silence save the three healer's heaving chests and labored breathing.

            Legolas, still unnoticed, looked down at the woman they had restrained. Her body was covered by the traditional white tunics used by the healers, only hers was spotted here and there with a dark brown substance Legolas could not help but recognize as blood. Her face was covered in thin lines extending from just above her eyebrows down the apex of her cheekbone. What struck him as most unusual about the woman was her hair. It had been cut short as to almost be non-existent. Only a fine, uneven layer of hair, so light it could only be taken for white, protruded from her skull where, Legolas noted, two oblong scars ran very nearly parallel from ear to ear. 

            "You! What are you doing here?!" The assistant without the cut had noticed the presence of the prince and as he pointed an accusatory finger at Legolas, Andoion was quick to silence him.

            "Quiet Arlammoth! You shall wake her again!" Andoion turned his frustrated glance towards Legolas and spoke in a desperate whisper.

            "For goodness sake close the door! Come in…come in…there is nothing to fear now." Legolas quickly closed the door behind him, however he found it difficult to move any closer towards the bed. Now that the din had subsided, he noticed that in addition to the bleeding cut of the second assistant, Andoion himself had scratch marks riddling his arms and Arlammoth boasted a cut across his neck that had just begun to heal.

            "What is she?" Legolas remained at the door and fixed his eyes upon Andoion, not daring to look upon the bed. The healer in turn gave an ironical laugh and motioned for him to come closer. He reached over and turned the woman's head to the side, exposing the left side of her face.

            "Come closer my Lord. She is sleeping now and will not harm you. Come and see for yourself just exactly what she is…and what she has become." Fighting with his instincts to remain distant from the being, Legolas moved forward until he came to the foot of the bed.

            "Closer! Her sleep lasts for a full hour- every time. She exhausts herself quickly. She shall not hurt you." Legolas came up to her side and withdrew instantly in horror. The lines upon her face were not lines at all but the unmistakable tracts of fingernails running over and over across her eyelids. They were not so horrible as what Andoion had intended him to see- her ear. When it had been the ear of an elf, it must have been perfect, but as it was now Legolas hardly had the heart to gaze upon it. The top of the ear had been cut away, leaving a mangled, shapeless mass behind.

            "It is the same on the other side…clipped as though she were a wild animal. From the way she responds to all of our attempts to help her, she must have been treated as such. She doesn't speak, she doesn't eat unless we force her, and she only wakes every hour for a few minutes, screaming as though she were on fire." Legolas had been listening but his eyes had remained upon her ear, it reminded him grotesquely of melted wax.

            "Who…" Legolas tried to speak but his throat had gone dry. How long had he been standing there without swallowing or blinking? The second assistant, whom Andoion introduced as Laifen now spoke as he held a bandage against his cut.

            "Who did this to her? We have no theories. She wandered into Mirkwood and was found by Lord Araorë…"

            "Araorë?" Legolas' head shot up.

            "Yes. He brought her to the palace unconscious- or so we thought. She had merely fallen asleep. When she awoke she gave Arlammoth his memento and very nearly killed one of the stable hands who helped to bring her inside." Araorë- Legolas' mind was spinning. So that was the reason for his odd behavior, he was trying to keep the secret of this woman to himself, perhaps to discover her past on his own. The explanation sounded well enough in his mind, but something else that refused to be ignored was bothering him.

            "Why all of this secrecy? Anxious minds are creating fantastical stories…why has no one been told about her?" Three doctors exchanged nervous glances before Andoion spoke with the same earnestness that Carandoliel had used in the hallway only a short while ago. 

            "We received orders that she was not to be spoken of to anyone."

            "Who gave you these orders?" Arlammoth coughed and rubbed the scar girdling his neck as his eyes fell to the sleeping woman and then up to Legolas. Again it was Andoion who spoke, this time with something of a shocked tone to his voice.

            "It was your father who gave the order." It was Legolas' turn to be surprised as his eyes searched the three elve's faces, only to find affirmations of the truth he had been told. His eyes rounded again on the sleeping woman and he took a few steps closer until his calves were resting against the bed frame. She was breathing quickly in her dream and her eyes were darting about madly, as though she were seeing and feeling things the four of them could not sense. Suddenly her open eyes fell upon Legolas and with a startled gasp he realized she was not sleeping at all.


	8. Odo

**Odo**

Before he had a chance to move, one of her hands had grabbed him just above his right elbow and pulled him down close to her face. He had only a thin sleeve covering his arm and her fingernails quickly dug unto his flesh as he tried frantically to remove his arm from her grip.

            The other doctors descended upon her and tried to unclench her fingers, which were now drawing blood from the prince's arm. Legolas cried out as she pulled him down so closely that his ear was only separated from her mouth by a hairs' breadth. 

            "The man with black eyes! The man with black eyes sees you!" Her voice was frantic and urgent and she spoke in the Westron tongue of Man. Legolas could barely discern the words through her heavy breathing but as soon as they passed from her lips she fell back against the sheets, releasing her hold upon his arm, and appeared to be sleeping again.

            "Master Legolas!" Andoion flew to his side and held a compress of cool water against the deep cuts on his arm. "I am so sorry my Lord, her sleep usually lasts for complete hour intervals- she was not yet supposed to arise!" He pulled the cloth off to reveal it was stained deeply with blood.

            "You shall have to go to the House of the Healers to have that cared for." Laifen motioned towards the marks, which were already spreading an angry red color down the length of Legolas' arm. For his part, Legolas hardly heard their words at all. Had she spoken to him? He hadn't imagined it…had he? As soon as Andoion rubbed a cleansing ointment on his open cuts he was startled back to life and turned his arm to see what she had done.

            Five marks. Four on the inside of his arm in a jagged row and one set apart from the others, nearly on the opposite side of the first. The top two on the inside were bleeding freely as was the single one on the outside of his arm. He looked at his sleeve and found five hole marks where her frantic nails had simply cut through the flimsy material. 

            "Please see the healers and allow them to tend to those." Andoion pointed towards his arm but in the urgency of his tone Legolas found himself wondering if they were not trying to rid themselves of him as quickly as possible. However, the pain in his arm was growing more acute and therefore he gratefully took his leave, escaping through the secret door but not before catching one last glimpse of the presumably sleeping woman.


	9. Toloth

**Toloth**

            Legolas had traveled the main hallway of the eastern wing slowly, running over everything he had seen and heard in his mind. Now, speaking to his father seemed unavoidable and almost mandatory. Upon entering the central foyer where he had been standing not a half hour ago, he noticed that there remained only very few people scattered about. The servants must have completed their work and moved back into their quarters of the palace. He had been absentmindedly hugging his loosely bandaged arm when from behind he heard his name called out. 

            "Legolas! Stop for a moment wont you?" The voice was unmistakably Araorë's and yet Legolas could not help but feel he wished to avoid any conversation betwixt them altogether. He didn't wish to evoke Araorë's inevitable questions regarding his arm or arouse his curiosity as to why he had come from the East wing of the palace. Legolas reluctantly turned around, hugging his arm even tighter in nervousness.

            "It is a good that I caught you. Your father has been looking for you and…" Araorë's eyes fell upon the white sleeve of Legolas' shirt now stained a bright red. His eyes narrowed suspiciously and he cut them quickly towards the eastern hallway. Legolas felt his stomach fall to the bottom of his feet.

            "…he wishes to meet you in the gardens." Coldness fell into his voice and the unfamiliar flame of hatred which was glowing brightly behind Araorë's slate colored eyes, only served to exacerbate Legolas' growing discomfort. 

            "If that is all, Araorë?" He tried to sound lighthearted and confident but his voice betrayed him. What was wrong with his friend? Hadn't he known Araorë since their earliest childhood? He had always been so quite and reserved, incapable of violence- and yet Legolas could not mistake the development of violent hatred distorting the lines of Araorë's face. 

            "Yes." Araorë spoke as though he had come out of a trance, although his eyes never for a moment left Legolas' arm. "Yes, that is all." He turned on his heel and walked down the eastern hall, very nearly stalking, as an upset child would have done upon losing his favorite toy because he had been naughty. Legolas' arm cried in protest as he realized he too had been digging his nails into his skin. 

            {Why did I not speak with him about this? Surely there is a misunderstanding somewhere.} 

But he knew perfectly well why he hadn't broached the subject. That flame…that fire behind Araorë's eyes reminded him all to well of the eyes he had seen in battle; eyes full of loathing and anger, waiting for the moment to strike weak flesh. Perhaps after he spoke with his father he would have a long talk with Araorë and discover what was troubling him so.

            He felt a warm trickle run down the length of his arm and he decided that a quick stop at the house of the healers would be in order before speaking with Thranduil. With hurried footsteps he made his way outside and towards the gardens, making a sharp left before entering the arbor and coming to the doorway of a large sandstone structure. From outside the wafting smell of spices and herbs mixed with the perfume of the gardens was rich enough to intoxicate the mind completely. 

            Once inside he was attended to without much question and to his great relief he left without having to give an explanation for the cuts in his arm. He made his way into the arbor feeling much better as the pain in his arm had been reduced to a dull ache.

            "Father." Legolas came upon Thranduil walking slowly through the blossom-laden boughs of the apple trees. The king did not respond at first, as though his mind were on things much farther away than the present moment. He slowly withdrew from his dreamlike state and turned to his son, smiling the smile of a tired old man.

            "What is it Father?" Thranduil sighed and turned his eyes towards the sun, now approaching the crest of the distant trees and painting them with vivid splashes of orange and red.

            "I have lived a very long time Legolas. The disadvantage to our immortality lies not in the endurance of our time…but it lives instead in the pride of thinking one has seen everything. There is something I must speak with you about, something of great importance."

            "The lady in the eastern hall?" Thranduil looked at him with the faint trace of a grin on his face as the two of them began to slowly wind their way through the dense flowering trees.

            "Yes. Her name, or the name we have decided to give her, is Enberaidien- Araorë found it in an ancient manuscript and thought it fit her nicely…"  
            "Araorë again." Legolas interrupted, "What does he have to do with her?" Thranduil smiled indulgently and clasped his hands slowly behind his back.

            "Perhaps you should allow me to finish? I believe the answers you seek shall be given in time…have you the patience to hear the story in full?" Legolas lowered his eyes and apologized for the disrespect he had shown his father. Thranduil smiled again and picked up the thread of his earlier thoughts.

            "Araorë found her sleeping in an unprotected field just outside the forest. Her skin had been burned horribly by the sun and as far as our healers could tell- she had survived for nearly two weeks without any type of nourishment. It was when she was first brought to the palace that Araorë had asked me personally if he could be in charge of the woman's care. I refused him and sent Andoion to attend to her. When we discovered, quite rudely, her violent nature, Araorë once again interceded, asking for time to watch her and consult with his books- he argued that there might be a cure, if not an explanation for her nature. I granted him that- and he has been most attentive and helpful.

            "Enberaidien has been kept in secret from the rest of the kingdom- and from you, though not very long due to your preoccupancy with matters that aren't your concern…" Legolas sensed a slight bit of approval in his father's voice and did not take offence. He was, after all, slightly pretentious when it came to secrets. "…She has been kept secret for one reason- we do not know a thing about her. Have you seen her?" Legolas' mind focused in sharply on her misshapen and horrible ears; he felt his stomach give a protesting lurch.

            "Yes, I have seen her."

            "Then you have seen what was done to her?" Legolas nodded as Thranduil sighed deeply- a sigh laden with sadness and pity. "Just like an animal. From what Andoion can theorize, she was kept in a restraining device, something crude and cruel that encircled her neck and clamped down across her head from ear to ear." Legolas remembered the shiny white flesh of the two scars running the breadth of her head. "Her hair was burned off or ripped out in places and her ears…horrible. Andoion believes they were cut off and then burned to stop the bleeding. As far as the scars running across her eyes are concerned, Andoion believes she did that to herself." Legolas' eyebrow rose slightly.

            "She did it to herself? Why? For what possible reason?" 

            "I do not know, Legolas. Until I do however, or until she speaks in words instead of screams, she shall remain hidden in the eastern wing and…" Thranduil stopped walking and faced his son head-on. His large green eyes left no room for maneuvering or second-guessing. "You would do well to stay away from her. It is my wish, that you stay away from her." Suddenly the words of the lady flew back into Legolas' mind. 

{She had spoken! She had spoken in the Westron tongue! The man with the black eyes. Hadn't she said something like that?}

 His father was wrong…she had spoken- he knew it! 

            Thranduil's gaze had not faltered and just as Legolas felt his epiphany reach the end of his tongue it fell away altogether in his father's stare. 

{Why shouldn't I be allowed to see her? Was this a mandate from Araorë as well? What sway did he hold over the King of Mirkwood?} 

Tossed from a glimpse of sanity back onto the violent sea of uncertainty and confusion, Legolas found himself questioning everything all over again.

            "Yes father." Was all he could think to say. Confrontation was impossible, argument inconceivable. Thranduil sighed again deeply, this time with something of a deep satisfaction in his tone. Together they came from the gardens and into the arbor, silently walking side by side.


	10. Neder

**Neder**

{The man with black eyes. The man with black eyes sees you!} 

Legolas found his appetite evasive as he sat across the dining table from Carandoliel. For her part, she had noticed the brooding silence of the prince and had decided not to bother his thinking with meddlesome questions. Legolas stared into the plate in front of him, thinking about so many things and yet they all came down to one thing…neither he, nor anyone in the palace for that matter, knew anything of the woman they called Enberaidien- and it was this puzzle piece that was driving his thoughts. 

            Carandoliel finished her supper in silence, noticing that Legolas hadn't touched any of his food. She felt terribly concerned and could not leave the table, wanting so desperately to be confided in. Legolas slowly came out of his musings and noticed the pale beige candles burning brightly before him. They were little more than the length of his thumb now and stood atop their own cascades of hardened dripping wax. 

{Her ear…that ear…} 

He quickly shook his head as though chasing away a chill and noticed that his wife still sat quietly at the opposite end of the table.

            "Oh Carandoliel…forgive me. I have been an uncivilized bore this evening." He watched her face slowly turn into a small smile which split her lips but slightly, revealing the tiny row of pearls hidden beneath. Legolas, heartened by her forgiveness, picked up his spoon but found the soup tepid and tasteless. He looked up again at Carandoliel and recognized her concern and grief at his silence.

            "May we retire?" She glanced down at his plate and then back up to him.

            "You have hardly eaten at all Legolas." He knew the use of his proper name came about only when she was truly distressed and so to please her, he sipped quickly at his wine and managed to eat half of a slightly warm cut of meat and a small portion of bread. When he had finished, Carandoliel rose and customarily, so did he. Together they walked side-by-side towards their bedchambers.

            "There is something I wish to speak with you about." Legolas felt he must confide in someone, and Araorë was far from rationality, leaving only Carandoliel, his trusted partner.

            "What troubles your mind my Lord?" He began to re-tell the events ever since his arrival, leaving out nothing and making a point to highlight the odd behavior of Araorë. At the conclusion of his narrative, Carandoliel remained silent and the soft folds of her dress slowly moving with the rhythm of her body were the only sounds to be heard.

            "I knew something was troubling Araorë, something to do with the stranger the servants kept whispering about. Sometimes when I would speak with him, he would become terribly cold and always seemed to be in a hurry to end the conversation…But a man with black eyes? What did she mean by that Legolas?" That same fear he had heard before was coursing through her body and giving her voice an unnatural waver. 

            "I shouldn't let that trouble you." He tried to sound confident, though the woman's words had struck him to the core. "She was raving- hardly a coherent source of information. I doubt she knew "I" was even there, per se. I was just a warm body that came too close." Carandoliel's body remained taut and Legolas began to wish he hadn't poured his worries onto her. So often he forgot how much she bore and how silently.

            "Let us talk no more of it tonight, I see how it distresses you." He wrapped his arm about her waist as they came to their chambers. 

            "Thank you, Legolas."

~*~


	11. Caer

Caer 

            Pale morning sunlight greeted Legolas as he dressed for the day. The lilting breeze of a fading summer caught the sheer window curtains and lifted them on unseen fingers. He stood in the silence of the room, first watching the windows and then turning his eyes towards the still sleeping Carandoliel. Her pale yellow nightgown lay spread out across the bedsheets like a pool of silk, and watching her steady breathing Legolas realized how much he loved her. It was for the moments like these, where her goodness and gentle love seemed to spread out and touch everything with brightness. He smiled and walked over to her, placing a kiss on her forehead as he thought to wake her and hold her in his arms. He had something he had to do first today, though. 

            With silent footsteps he left the room, determined to meet with Araorë and settle the disturbance between them. The early morning hours found not many people about the castle hallways and as Legolas made his way towards Araorë's room he passed by a young elf obviously on his way towards the back of the palace and in a terrible hurry. He had his arm tucked underneath a rather large bundle of fresh leather and although he could not be sure, Legolas felt he had seen the elf recently somewhere else before. 

            The prince dismissed the thought as he spotted Araorë walking with some importance just up ahead and with a grim seriousness set upon his face, he approached his friend. The reception he received was nothing he had thought it would be.

            "Legolas!" Araorë wore and broad and genuine smile as he approached his friend and clapped him on the shoulder. "Why are you taking your constitutional at so early an hour?" Legolas was at a complete loss for words. Was this the same man who mere hours ago had spoken to him as though he were his bitterest enemy? Trying not to appear too severe he stuttered to life and forced a slight smile.

            "Yes…I mean…I was looking for you." His voice betrayed his utter confusion and as Araorë laughed heartily and clapped him again, he began to feel more like an ass with each passing moment. 

            "Whatever for? Have my exploits been discovered?" The joviality seemed almost overt. Legolas forced himself to stop making conspiracies where none existed and laughed along with Araorë at his joke.

            "Seriously Legolas, what did you want to talk with me about?" The prince felt like a cad and could hardly look Araorë in the eyes. Instead he spoke the first thing that came into his mind.

            "Carandoliel and I would like you to join us for dinner tonight. She tells me you have been working diligently over your books for the past few weeks and we thought you would welcome the change." Araorë smiled again and accepted, though with a slight trace of hesitancy, Legolas perceived. 

            "I should be delighted to join you…but come now, you didn't seek my company just to ask me that? What you really want to know is how I am involved with Enberaidien." A sly smile crossed Araorë's lips and upon receiving Legolas' shocked reaction, the smile broke into a laugh.

            "Don't be so evasive- we are friends!" His eyes turned shamefacedly towards the ground. "I know I was short with you yesterday but there were…issues that needed resolving and I supposed my mind and my manners were elsewhere…friends?" To that Legolas gave his own smile as they clasped hands.

            "Friends." It felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders and all about him the air was easier to breathe. It was good to see the familiar spark of friendliness in Araorë's eyes.

            "So, what is it that you desire to know?" Legolas could hardly think for the relief flooding his mind, still, he was able to remember the few questions he wanted to ask his friend.

            "What is your involvement with her? Father tells me you took a great personal interest." Araorë smiled and gestured down the hallway towards the library.

            "Perhaps it would be better if we talked in there. My notes are in order and it is easier to understand when those who knew it best explain it to you." Legolas had no objections and with eager footsteps they came into the extensive library of the palace. Legolas had never cared much for the musty smell of the books; he found them dull and took more pleasure in riding about the earth than reading about it. 

            As he entered the sanctum of literature, the same familiar smell came rushing up to meet him but now it did not offend him so. Perhaps he had grown more accustomed to the idea of books; perhaps passing years had given him an appreciation for sitting in solitude with a magnificent story at his fingertips. Araorë directed him past the outer shelves and led him back into the farthest, most tucked-away corner in the whole room. Here, a small table had been set up along with a chair and a box of candles, most of which were burned to the wick.

            "Here is where I have done all my research." Araorë quickly tidied up, picking up a rather small blue bound book and tucking it away in a stack of volumes. He straightened out his papers and from the pile of literature, selected a rather old and ugly book. Its binding was yellowing from the passing of time and when Araorë opened it, the gnarled corners of the pages revealed its age and use.

            "I don't understand what you really mean to show me." Legolas nodded towards the pile of papers and books. "We know she is an elf…it is all a matter of where she came from and who she is…that is not to be found in any book." Araorë smiled smartly and concentrated on leafing through the pages of the molding book.

            "Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure she is an elf?" 

            "Yes. Her ears are…"

            "Ah, her ears. Tell me, can not a man's ears be cut the same way…burned the same way?" The idea hit Legolas with a dull thud as he realized they could. His eyes wandered to the page that Araorë had stopped at. On it was a picture of a woman in shackles, broken and bleeding badly from large wounds in her side and back.

            "A slave- but not just any slave…and this is why your father fears her the most- she was a slave of Sauron's. She is a woman of the race of Men. She was a slave in the hands of Sauron in the fortress of Dol Guldur. You see…" He gestured towards the book and pointed at the scrawling words. "Men were used by Sauron because their bodies were smaller and more pliable than orcs. They were used to mine beneath the earth for the very rare jewels he set in his rings. They were kept underground and out of the sunlight. That is why her hair and her skin are so white and…why she screams when she sees the light." Araorë's explanation astounded Legolas, and it seemed to fill in all of the missing puzzle pieces except-

            "But the scars across her eyes. They are not new…in fact they are quite old and embedded. Why has she been scarring her face so?" Araorë's smile flinched for a moment before he tugged it back up and replied expertly:

            "She has been wandering in the wilderness for a while. She could have done it upon first escaping the castle. You see…she was left there when Sauron abandoned it. We don't know how she survived or on what she lived but she did. When she finally made her way to the surface, the light must have kept her in hiding for quite some time, until she had lost strength hunting only at night- Men's senses are not adept at seeking food in the dark." Legolas could not explain it, but his intuition had come to life again and it wasn't resting easily with Araorë's story. Something wasn't right, something was amiss in the flawless picture Araorë had painted, and Legolas couldn't decide what it was. 


	12. Minib

**Minib**

Legolas was studying the pictures drawn to grotesque perfection on the pages of the ancient book. The drawings looked slightly different from the restraint-device Andoion had described; it was a simple girdle about the neck instead of a harness that encircled their heads. He pressed his fingertips lightly to the page, feeling the rise and the fall of the inkblots and writings, almost feeling the pain of the agony-stricken drawings. 

            "What is being done for her?" Legolas could not hide the concern in his voice; the pictures of the slaves seemed to jump into his mind with brutal vivacity. 

            "We have tried to speak with her but she merely wails when she awakens, the light is too much for her eyes. I cannot calm her enough to find out if she is intelligent or merely too damaged for any hope of response... 

{The man with black eyes…She speaks the Westron tongue.} 

            "We have treated her wounds and tried to examine her ears to see if any damage was done to her hearing which might impair our communication with her."

            "Yes…about her ears. Why did they do it? If she was indeed a woman of the race of Men, why mangle her ears so terribly?" Araorë shook his head slowly.

            "We don't know Legolas. Punishment? Retribution? Simple humor- or anger? We cannot tell. I believe it was a way of marking her- marking her as their own and teaching her who she belonged to and where she stood." Legolas closed the book slowly and looked back up at Araorë, who was studying his face intently.

            "I know what you are thinking, and I feel it would be best if you didn't see her again…I don't want her to become more confused than she already is by adding another unfamiliar face." Legolas nodded his head, though his thoughts had begun to drift again- back to those words she had so frantically whispered. Should he tell Araorë? His mind said yes, but his instincts were pulling him too strongly to be ignored. Why should he be hesitant to speak with his friend freely? Why could he not overcome the suspicion in his mind?

            "What is it Legolas? Your brow has fallen so low it threatens to cover your eyes." Araorë smiled at his humor but did not loose the hint of earnestness in his voice.

            {Perhaps he does care for the details of my meeting with Enberaidien more than he lets on.}

            "Nothing." To this, Araorë's shoulders fell slightly and his smiled flinched again. He drew his tongue across his lips and Legolas noticed a small rise in his voice when next he spoke.

            "Come now, you aren't being entirely truthful." An unmistakably forced laugh narrowed Legolas' eyes as he realized he had been deceived. The same Araorë that had been birthed with the arrival of the stranger was still inside, only covered by a clever façade. Legolas would no longer stand for it.

            "I might add that you are not being quite so truthful yourself. What is it you really wanted to know Araorë? The friendliness is wearing thin and your smile no longer hides your truer motives." In an instant Araorë's face seemed to darken and the smile plastered across his face was released and fell into a scowl. He slowly fixed his eyes on Legolas and for an instant, they seemed terribly sad and confused.

            "Why can you not help me? I ask only for your honesty and you deny it." 

            "And I ask for the friend I left in Mirkwood to return to me! What had happened to you Araorë? What has this stranger done to you?" Legolas put his hands on Araorë's shoulders as he spoke, only to have them shrugged off.

            "She has done nothing to me! I am the same friend you left so long ago- I merely have a purpose and a puzzle I wish to solve on my own, without the interference of you and your father. Can I not have secrets? Can I not be allowed to do something without the watchful eyes of the court upon me?" Legolas was taken aback at Araorë's statements. He had not thought his friend to be so terribly unhappy with his company but now he was beginning to see the world through Araorë's eyes. Forever in the shadow of the monarchy, constantly overlooked and left quite alone to his books and studies. Legolas had always supposed that was how Araorë had wished it to be; he had never thought that his friend was who he was because he had no choice. 

            "Still," Legolas spoke slowly and uncertainly, knowing his position now in Araorë's eyes- the oppressor. "you cannot keep this woman secret- she is a stranger to the whole kingdom and if she poses a threat- it is well that all should know it." Araorë began to shuffle through the pile of papers in search of something.

            "She will do no harm Legolas." The prince hugged the bandage about his arm- it was still sore and radiated a dull gnawing pain. Araorë stopped and noticed Legolas' actions.

            "If you are thinking about your arm- you must realize that you frightened her terribly. She does not understand where she is or who we are. She is completely alone- and terrified." 

            {The man with black eyes.}

            "She has spoken to me." Araorë's head shot up in an instant, his eyes wide and his lips trembling.

            "What? What did she say? What language does she speak?" He reached quickly across the small table and grabbed a pot of ink and a ragged quill. Quickly producing a piece of paper from the stack, he stood in readiness for Legolas' explanation.

            "She speaks in the Weston Tongue- an older form of it if I'm not mistaken." Araorë nodded excitedly and scribbled furiously. "She spoke only two sentences: 'The man with black eyes. The man with black eyes sees you.'" Araorë's quill stopped abruptly as his eyes widened and darted towards the large pile of volumes on the floor.

            "I see…anything else?" He was no longer writing and his hands were shaking terribly. 

            "No, nothing else." Araorë dove his hand into the large pile of books and produced the small blue volume he had previously swept aside. Stuffing it quickly into the folds of the long gray robe he was wearing, he quickly stood and excused himself, walking stiffly away from Legolas.

            The prince watched him leave through the labyrinth of bookshelves and wondered what he had said that had changed Araorë's mood so drastically. He simply didn't understand anything today, and he wasn't holding out much hope for the remainder of the morning.

~*~


	13. Rasat

**a/n: Heavens~! I simply must say thank you to all of my readers~ esp. Mija. Thank you so much for putting up with me and my sluggish posting~ I promise it is going to pick up now that I have settled properly into my college schedule~ Thank you again and I hope you enjoy~! **

**Rasat**

            "My Lord," Carandoliel greeted him as he was winding his way through the armory of the palace. Ever since his early training years at the hand of a sword, when the prince could not be found anywhere about, he was almost always in the palace armory. He had explained once to her that he enjoyed the feel and the smell of the weaponry, his favorites being the gilded knives and swords from ages past. She did not care much for the silvery glow of the blades, nor for the metallic smell of the room but she loved to watch Legolas wander about inside of it- his eyes gently set and his fingertips grazing the lines of ancient swords.

            She found him standing with his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes turned towards a broad sword from the First Age. He followed the line of the ancient blade, concentrating upon it fully and clearing his mind with long, slow breaths.

            "My Lady." He did not move his eyes towards her but his smile told her that her company was wanted all the same. Carandoliel simply waited a few moments for him to resolve his thoughts and speak with her.

            "I was watching you sleep this morning…" He spoke, still watching the curves of the sword as Carandoliel's face opened slowly into a confused smile. "…and I was thinking of how beautiful you were, and…" Legolas turned to face her, picking up her small hand in his own. "…and how much I love you." He brought the ivory skin of her palm up to his lips and kissed the cup of her hand. 

            "And I you." She opened her hand and pressed her palm against his cheek, running her long fingers down the length of his chin. He smiled and drew her towards him in a kiss, holding her gently in his arms as he thought how such rare and wonderful a gift had ever been given to him.

            "Why are you in here my Lord? You come only to the sanctuary when your mind is troubled." She gestured towards the open room and moved away from their embrace. Legolas sighed deeply as he offered her his arm and began to walk towards the arched entryway of the armory. 

            "I spoke with Araorë this morning." Her emerald eyes rounded upon him and opened wide with eager curiosity. Her liveliness had been confined within the palace, but it still burned brightly behind her irises.

            "And what did he say?" 

            "We spoke of the woman- he made it very clear that father and I were neither needed nor wanted in the assistance of the stranger."

            "But surely he realizes that all matters such as these must be dealt with by the courts and the King- Araorë can't expect your father to give him free reign." Carandoliel's brow furrowed and created a small "V" just above the bridge of her nose. Legolas wondered if he looked the same when he was puzzled.

            "He hasn't and that is what bothers Araorë most of all. He wants to prove something- or else hide something. He no longer wishes to be thought of as the prince's friend. He desires something more, something greater." Legolas sighed again and Carandoliel could sense the confusion and sadness in his tone. She had not known that Araorë was so unhappy with his position in the court, he had certainly never shown as much to her.

            "What are you to do then?" They had entered the main hallway and as he spoke, he turned his eyes towards the eastern wing.

            "I am going to see her again. I am going to speak with her."


	14. Calen

Calen 

            He had not forgotten the agreement he had made with Araorë regarding the visitation of Enberaidien. His mind had been made up however, he had to know if communication was possible. Hadn't she spoken with him? 

            {Had she known to whom she was speaking?}

            "I doesn't matter." He spoke aloud to no one as he passed hurriedly down the hallway towards the hidden door. He had to try. Perhaps it was foolish to think that she would remember him, he couldn't even be sure if she had really seen him when she had spoken. He had to know.

            The tapestry, this time he recognized it to be one of a set depicting the battles for the control of the Simirils, still concealed the tiny wooden door. There was no noise coming from within and Legolas guessed her to be asleep. 

            Upon opening the door he was surprised to find the room utterly abandoned, save the same short bed and the resting figure upon it. There were no candles glowing in the room and the only source of light struggling to come in was through a very narrow chink on the left wall. The beam of sunlight streamed across the bed and fell upon the woman's chest and legs, leaving her face in the dark. 

            At first, Legolas thought to turn about and leave, in fear of having to restrain her by himself. Thoughts of the jagged scar lining Laifen's throat gave him an uncomfortable feeling as he tried to swallow. However, he came to slowly realize how frightened she herself must be- and would he not also strike a stranger upon waking in a place he did not know to people who did not speak his language? He resolutely stepped into the darkness, closing the door and the last of the comforting hallway light out of the room.   

            In the blackness his vision failed him slightly as his ears became sensitive to every breath the woman drew. Somehow he knew she was not sleeping, he sensed that instead, she was waiting. Waiting for what he could not say, perhaps for him to come closer to the bed, or perhaps for him to speak. He drew his tongue across his dry lips and spoke from his safe hold near the door.

            "My name is Legolas, I…I have come to speak with you." He had often thought the Westron Tongue archaic in his youth, but now that it was the only weapon standing between his unguarded flesh and the fervor of madness, he held with a much greater respect. The words fell flatly in the darkness, and no response issued from the steadily breathing woman. He felt his throat seize up as he made a motion to move nearer and thought the better of it, sensing her take a quick gasp of air. 

            "I mean you no harm my Lady. You…you spoke to me earlier, do you remember?" Again, silence. His eyes shifted uneasily towards the door and for a moment he considered leaving, but his mind would not let him rest and he knew it. 

            "I am going to step over towards the bed. Is that alright?" Nothing. He moved his feet slowly, feeling the tension as his mind screamed in protest. The woman on the bed made no motion, although her breathing had become noticeably shallow. He came just to the foot of the bed and placed his hands, palms outward, into the light from the chink.

            "See? I bring you no harm." Everything happened so quickly he hardly had time to think- but before the words had left his mouth, her arms shot forward and grabbed him around his wrists. Using his body as leverage, she pulled herself forward and into the light. The stream of sunlight caught her eyes and Legolas noticed that there was nothing behind her pale irises save fear- bottomless, black terror.

            "I can see you." She was so close to his face that a mere whisper separated them. Her eyes seemed to widen and for a moment, Legolas felt as though she was looking straight through him to the door behind. Her hands released his wrists and came up to his face, holding his head in the palms of her hands. She pressed her thumbs against the soft flesh of his cheekbones and pulled his eyes level with hers. Her head cocked comically to one side before she released him altogether and laid back on the bed with a despondent sigh.


	15. Nim

**Nim**

            Legolas could hardly still the beating of his heart as he tried to slow his breathing, realizing slowly that she meant him no harm. She now lay curled into a ball and weeping silently.

            "What is it? What is the matter?" Her silent crying continued with no response. He felt foolish; as though he were speaking to a child who did not understand his words and simply stood sucking his or her thumb. He had just made up his mind to leave when from within her muffled sobs he heard her whisper:

            "Nothing can stop it. The man with the black eyes has seen you now…nothing can stop it." This time he fell to his knees beside her bed, mere inches from her tear-stained face. His earnestness was intense as he thought to reach out to her an immediately thought the better of it.

            "Stop what? What can we not stop Enberaidien?" Her eyes opened wide and he realized how unbelievably white they seemed in the dim lighting. She drew her hands over the dome of her head, running her fingertips across the ugly patches of singed hair and resting them upon the two shiny scars.

            "My name…that is not my name…my name…" She began to rock slowly back and forth, rubbing the scars across her head and speaking in a tortured voice. Legolas wished to continue the thread of their earlier conversation and found her direction shifting maddening.

            "What can we not stop?" She did not hear him and continued to speak into the darkness.

            "My name…not my name…Írime…my people call me Írime…Írime"

            "Írime," Legolas was very nearly coarse with frustration. "Írime, tell me…look at me!" Her wandering eyes fell upon him in a instant, shutting out all fear that she could not understand him. When he understood he had her full attention, he continued very slowly.

            "I need you to tell me- What cannot be stopped?" Her face slowly unfolded into a crooked smile which Legolas found rather disquieting. She moved her lips next to his ear and whispered:

            "Death."

            Legolas withdrew in silent horror as her lips parted and an unnatural laugh- a mirthless laugh issued forth. He felt his skin begin to crawl as he rose again to his feet and backed away towards the door, her laughter becoming more and more horrible by the moment.

            "Death!" She screamed the word and suddenly was upon her feet, standing on the bed and gripping the footboard. The thin stream of light fell across her midsection and legs as she thrashed about wildly on the bed- dancing to some unseen and horrible melody. 

            "Death will find you Prince! You cannot stop it!" Legolas felt the blood in his veins turn to ice.

            {Prince?}

            He had not told her his noble title, nor had he addressed himself by his rightful and full name. How had she known? How had she known he was a prince? He looked at her in confusion, her eyes now wide and her smile the smile of a madwoman. She jumped down from the bed and landed on her feet with a soft *thwap*. With the same wide smile she padded across the stone floor and stood up against Legolas, passing her hands in front of his eyes, palms inward.

            "You cannot see…but I can…I can see…" From the maniacal lunacy she seemed to taper off into an abyss of sadness. Her large white eyes began to fill with tears again and even in the dark, he could see her close her eyelids and force out two silvery drops. She backed away from him and pressed her palms against her eyes, her crying now becoming more pronounced and noticeably louder. 

            {What is to be done?} 

He could hardly restrain the impulse to touch her and try to offer comfort, but she had been the one to initiate contact between them and Legolas felt it was wise to remain motionless. She moved into the sunlight again and Legolas noticed that she was no longer covering her eyes, but digging her fingernails through their familiar grooves down the length of her eyelids. 

            "No! Don't!" Not knowing what he was doing, Legolas dashed across the darkened room and felt for her body, clamping onto her wrists and pulling sharply. His sudden interference seemed to send her into a panic and her crying turned into shrieks of anger as she began to claw uncontrollably at her eyes. Despite his best efforts it was a few moments before Legolas could wrench her hands away from her face. Then, without warning, the strength suddenly left her body and all in an instant she fell onto the floor in a heap- fast asleep. 

            Legolas could hardly think for the blood pounding in his temples. His first impulse was to call out for help when he remembered how isolated they were. He felt something warm and sticky on his hands and knew it to be blood- her blood. Something had to be done for her and before he could reason his way out of it, Legolas had picked up the limp mass in his arms and carried her out into the hallway. 


	16. Gaer

Gaer 

            Legolas luckily met no one in the hallways on the way to his chambers as it was mid-day and all were indoors busy with luncheon or resting. He came to the large mahogany doors, which marked the entryway for the antechamber of the rooms he shared with Carandoliel. With furtive kicking, he knocked on the door several times, and on the sixth try Carandoliel came to the entryway. Her face reverted to horror as she looked at the creature in his arms.

            "My heavens! What is that?" Legolas pushed his way past her, desperate to come under the protection of the stone walls of his room. He walked into their bedroom and laid the sleeping Írime upon a long, red cushioned couch, which occupied the wall opposite from their bed. 

            "Legolas!" Carandoliel came up behind him, demanding and explanation for his actions. She stared down at the huddled form of Írime and shuddered with horror. Her once white tunic was now stained a dull brown in several places, which were now overlaid by fresh streaks of red. Her face was covered in smears of blood and for a moment Carandoliel thought she was going to faint. 

            Legolas however, worked quickly and silently, molding her into an extended position and covering her with a thick, warm blanket.

            "The curtains." He motioned towards the open windows which were freely allowing cascades of warm summer sunlight to pour into the room. "Close the curtains." Carandoliel obeyed quickly, returning to his side in an instant, her hands now firmly clasped in front of her and her fingers working furiously.

            "Is that her? The woman?" Legolas nodded as he wiped away a small trickle of blood traveling the length of her chin.

            "We haven't much time- find me a basin with water and a cloth." Carandoliel left quickly and returned with the desired items, kneeling herself at Írime's side and rolling up the cuffs on her sleeves. Legolas turned to her with a look of admiration as she dipped the cloth into the basin and wrung it out with determination. While Carandoliel wiped away the blood covering Írime's cheeks, Legolas had time to think.

            {What would happen upon her waking? What would happen when the palace discovered her missing?} 

He cut his eyes nervously towards Carandoliel and realized how close her soft ivory skin was to the quick hands of Írime. The sight turned his stomach and he pressed his hands against Carandoliel's shoulders.

            "You should not be here when she awakens- she is violent and I cannot allow anything to happen to you." Carandoliel smiled uneasily and turned back to her work.

            "I am not afraid." Her hands however, were trembling terribly and as her fingers worked they would slip every so often. She placed the cloth on Írime's right cheek and Legolas set his steady hand atop hers.

            "I know you are brave but do not be foolish. I do not know what will happen when she awakens, she might…"

            "I want to be with you." It was the first time she had ever interrupted him and for a moment he was taken aback slightly. Her eyes, now a washed, pale green turned towards him with set determination. She placed her free hand atop his own and squeezed it slightly.

            "I want to be with you when she awakens. Nothing you can say will frighten me into leaving you." Legolas looked her small hand atop his and noticed that it was as steady as his own. He suddenly came to realize that just being around her, just touching her gave him strength and that it was true for her as well. All that was lacking in his heart and mind she completed, he wholly lived his life because Carandoliel was in it. He traced the lines of her soft ivory hands and smiled, nodding his head at her request. They both turned back to look at Írime and found her large white eyes staring at them intently.

            Carandoliel fairly fell backwards in sudden fright as Írime lay stoically staring at them. Her light eyes in the brightness of the room seemed even more pronounced against her pale skin and Legolas wondered if the scant light the curtains were allowing in really was hurting her eyes. She wasn't blinking, merely shifting her gaze from one to the other, the small trace of a tear forming in her left eye.

            "Írime?" Legolas' voice cracked slightly as he looked from Carandoliel, who still sat breathing shallowly, back to Írime, who had made no motion to speak or move. Her white eyes rounded on Legolas and again he had the sensation that she was looking through him, looking past his flesh and into something he could not see. 

            "Írime?" This time it was Carandoliel who spoke. Írime's eyes flashed over to her in an instant and then, very slowly, she began to extend her hand towards Carandoliel's face. She did not move but allowed the woman to touch the top of her cheek just below her right eye. Írime pressed the flesh beneath her eye slightly with her thumb, cocking her head slowly to one side as she spoke:

            "Can you see?" Írime seemed to be searching desperately in Carandoliel's eyes for something but after a few moments her hand fell away in disappointment. Carandoliel's breathing became calmer as Írime seemed to fall back into her motionless trance upon the crimson cushions.

            "Írime." Legolas spoke with urgency, trying to establish something, anything, that she would be able to remember him by. Before he could speak however, Írime's eyes rounded the room about her quickly and she sat up with a start, her white eyes now practically glowing in the dim light.

            "Light…light!" Legolas rushed to the curtains to shut out the remaining light. His hands were tugging the heavy velvet curtains tightly together when Carandoliel called out his name in alarm. Írime had left the couch and thrown herself nearly across the room in a single leap. She was upon Legolas in no time- however, she did not touch him but instead grabbed the soft material of the curtains. With a hard thrust she threw them open, allowing the full shine of the afternoon sun into the room. 

            "Light! Light!" She opened her white eyes to the sun until they could bear no more and squeezed shut in protest. Clear, sparkling tears streamed down the scars of her cheeks and her face broke into a wide smile.

            {She does not loath the sunlight. Araorë was mistaken!} 

Legolas turned to Carandoliel, who still sat upon the floor, her eyes turned towards Írime who had begun to cup and uncover her eyes, as though playing a childish game with the bright yellow orb. Írime turned towards Legolas and grabbed his arm with eagerness, without digging her fingernails in or pulling him violently. She moved him towards the window where she was standing in the full light of the sun.

            "See? Can you see?" She pointed towards the courtyard where dozens of merchants and servants were running about. She kept repeating her question and Legolas felt that she meant him to see something more than the elves coming and going from the castle. He turned to face her and came eye to eye with her wide white irises, his breath suddenly caught in his throat. Her eyes were no longer white- they were a myriad of colors too numerous to be counted. She was staring at the courtyard intently and for a fleeting moment Legolas wondered if she could see those colors in the scene below. She turned her eyes to meet his and the prism vanished, leaving behind only a faint gray-blue color in the very bottom of her irises. 

            "Can you see?" Her eagerness was almost childlike and her smile, more hopeful than joyous. He shook his head slowly, still watching her eyes. Her shoulders fell heavily and as she drew her hands up to her face Legolas feared she might try to harm herself again. She looked at the palms of her hands and suddenly, as though she had had an epiphany, she thrust her palms into his face, her old smile now splitting her face again. 

            "I…I don't understand." Legolas shook his head as she emphatically shook her palms in his face. 

            "You can see! I will show you!" She shook her hands and Legolas felt that she wished him to close his eyes. Instinct warned against shutting his eyes when his love and happiness were so close by and unguarded, but he had come to have faith in Írime. He still hoped, more than felt that his impulse was correct. As soon as his eyes were shut he felt Írime's hands, oddly cold, pressing against the flesh of his cheek and her thumbs pressing gently against his eyelids. 

            "You can see." Legolas opened his eyes and felt a scream rise into his throat and die on his lips.


	17. Gloss

**Gloss**

At first he thought he had been blinded. All around him a searing white light shone with an intensity so great his eyes began to tear. It was a few moments before he realized that this light did not hurt, his mind merely thought it should. The brightness was intense and he could see nothing save a vast expanse of white emptiness. Then, very slowly, colors began to seep onto the canvas. They were not however, colors of the world he knew- they were brilliant and at the same time blurred. 

            Shapes took form about him and he wondered at where he could be. Had Írime's hands sent his mind into another realm? What was he looking at? Suddenly, in the time frame of a blink, the world around him came into acutely sharp focus. He was still in his bedroom, yet it did not look like his bedroom. Everything about him was covered in a fine, hazy mist.

            The ancient wood-carved bed stood with a blurry halo the color of dry mud about it and the blanket upon the bed seemed to radiate a soft yellow glow. What was he seeing? When he turned to where Írime had last been his eyes opened wide in shock. She still stood with her noticeable smile, but all about her a wreath of violent silver light shone. 

            "You see?" Her voice sounded distant, even though she could not have been more than a few feet from where he now stood. What did he look like to her? Legolas drew his hand up towards his face, creating an odd sensation throughout his arm, and noticed that he too, seemed to be covered in the fine mist; his was a soft blue-gray color. He looked down upon the courtyard and realized what Írime had been speaking of- the array of colors and lights was astounding. Each person seemed to have a different misty halo surrounding his or her body. Legolas could see brilliant shades of deep green and celestial blue, one small child seemed to practically glow the bright orange shade of leaves in the fall. 

            "What? What am I seeing?" He asked Írime, who had come to his side. She smiled and pointed towards the world beyond the courtyard- a veritable teeming mass of colors too brilliant to be named.

            "Colors…you can see the colors…" Hardly an answer to his question and yet a fitting description all the same. Everything about him…everything was colors. He turned to Carandoliel, all but forgotten in the excitement of the moment but when he looked upon her his smile fell short. A light surrounded her as well, only hers was dull gray- very nearly black. He turned back to the courtyard, confused. 

            {Why do all the others have such brilliant colors, yet ours are so dull and lifeless?} There was no one below him with the dull ash colored aura he and Carandoliel seemed to share; what could it mean? 

            "Írime, what am I seeing?" He asked again as he turned to face her, the brilliant silver of her aura now dulling slightly as she thought to answer him. 

            "The colors." She spoke as though there was no other way to describe them. "The colors… colors…" She became frustrated, as Legolas clearly did not understand her. He looked down into the courtyard again and noticed that the colors were beginning to seep slowly out of his vision- he was returning to normal sight. A though struck him just before the last of the mists slipped from his eyes- was he seeing an extension of life forces themselves? Were the colors representations of the people and things they surrounded? Írime nodded her head as though she was reading his thoughts.

            "Colors." He whispered the word and turned his head to look at Carandoliel. 

            {What do her colors mean, though…if that is the case?} She rose to her feet and walked to Legolas' side, keeping her eyes firmly upon Írime. 

            "He sees." Írime pointed at Legolas with childish giddiness and Legolas wondered if what he had glimpsed was all she could see when she opened her eyes. Her large white eyes still reflected a dull gray-blue and Legolas realized that she was seeing his colors, that she could see them all the time. 

            {If that was the case- why did she so violently scar her eyes? What can she see that I could not?} Then, he remembered the discoloration of his aura as well as Carandoliel's- was something wrong with them? The thought caused an unwanted shiver to run the length of his spine and he felt Carandoliel press her body against his as though is had passed through her as well. 

            "The colors show me everything- the man with black eyes…his color is red- blood, the color of lifeblood…" Írime seemed to be talking with herself but intuitively Legolas knew her words to be an omen, a sign of some sort. Something was wrong- something was terribly wrong and he meant to discover what it was. 

            "Írime, look at me." Her large eyes immediately leveled with his own. "What do the colors tell you?" She furrowed her brow as though thinking of a way to explain and then, very slowly, spoke:

            "The colors show me everything…when you lie…when you are sick…when you are angry…when you are…dying." Her last word dropped a bucketful of ice into Legolas' stomach. 

            {Surely, she didn't mean…}

            "Legolas? What is it? What are the colors?" Carandoliel sounded so timid and frightened that he almost forgot for a moment her stature and age. She was as terrified as a child, and rightly so, by the look of horror on Legolas' face. Suddenly a hard knock resonated from their chamber door and Carandoliel jumped slightly. Legolas looked at her and then at Írime, wondering how he was going to explain her presence. The knock came again, more persistent and repetitive. Legolas motioned for the two women to remain where they were, to which Írime replied with a wide smile.


	18. Crann

**Crann**

            {Araorë.} 

Legolas' heart was pounding in his chest. What would he say to him? What could he possibly say to him? He came to the door just as another knock, so loud it made his fingers jump, pounded into his ears. He slowly opened the door to reveal, not Araorë, but a young servant, clearly upset. His long mahogany hair was pulled back tightly and the earthen, muddy color of his outfit told Legolas he must work outside, probably in the stables. Legolas recognized him as the servant he had passed in the hallway carrying the large pile of new leather. The same feeling of déjà vu puzzled him for a moment before he suddenly remembered where he had seen him before. 

            "My Lord." The servant bowed quickly, returning his eyes to the prince. "My name is Nevturar."

            {The servant who met me at the gates! What was he doing here?} Nevturar's nervous glances past the prince's shoulder made Legolas uncomfortable as he waited for an explanation for the servant's interference. The youth stuttered slightly and glanced over his shoulder once or twice into the empty hallway beyond.

            "I watched you take her. She is here…she is here and I must speak with her." If anything, Legolas had expected nothing at all like this. His eyebrows fell into a confused "V" and he felt his throat begin to run dry. Swallowing difficulty, he spoke with as much confidence as he could summon:

            "I know not of whom you speak." Nevturar's jaw set as he pointed towards the antechamber. 

            "She is there! The one who knows…everything. She is a Seer, the last of her kind." Nevturar spoke as though this was common knowledge, but the concept was new to Legolas who still stood silently. Nevturar grew slightly impatient as his bright blue eyes grew angry and his high cheekbones set themselves squarely. 

            "I must be allowed to see her before he knows you have taken her."

            "Before who knows?"

            "Your friend."


	19. Caran

**Caran**

"Who are you?" Carandoliel demanded as soon as Nevturar entered the room. He ignored her question and fairly ran across the room to where Írime stood. Nevturar looked into her white eyes and they both remained motionless for a moment. Then, all in a moment, Írime threw her arms about him and began crying as she would upon a father's shoulder. Nevturar wrapped his arms about her and tried to comfort her crying while Legolas and Carandoliel stood dumbstruck.

            When her tears had subsided, Nevturar gently led her back to the velvet couch and sat her down, touching her as though she were a thin frame of glass, sensitive to any jarring. The presentation struck Legolas as somewhat amusing when he remembered the force with which she had latched onto his arm. When she was seated, Nevturar came back to where Legolas and Carandoliel stood, paying his respects to the princess as he bowed and introduced himself.

            "What was that all about?" Legolas motioned towards Írime to which Nevturar sighed and gestured for them to sit down. Írime, seemingly worn out from crying, fell back into her deep sleep and curled into a tight ball. Legolas and Carandoliel took two chairs which had been set in the far corner of the room away from Írime, while Nevturar retrieved a stool and sat in front of them. He clasped his hands and sighed again, checking over his shoulder to be certain that Írime was sleeping. When he turned back to them, Legolas could see that his normally bright eyes were dark with worry and the long lines of his chin were lowly set.

            "Írime…she is a mortal woman but not in the way we know mortals. She is not very old by our measure of time- but by Man's she should have been dead many, many years ago. She will eventually die of old age, but not for thousands of years to come." He paused, uncertain as to where to begin. "She was of the fourth generation of Men…her mother gave birth to four sons and four daughters, each with the gift of "seeing". Iluvitar gave these children to the race of Man, as Seers- seers of the colors of all things in Middle Earth." The question "why?" begged on Legolas' lips but he stayed it, allowing Nevturar to finish. As though in answer to his thoughts, Nevturar began again:

            "The race of Men was graced with these gifts because Man held no power save that which he created. The Seers were something like the Seeing Stones of the elves. At all times they were in communication with each other through their minds- only one of their amazing powers. The eight Seers could also see into the thoughts of all creatures, by viewing their "colors" or "auras"." Legolas had been right, but the thought of Carandoliel's dark gray color still disturbed him.

            "They were sent across the vast lands of the ancient world, to help and to aid those in need or trouble." Nevturar turned again towards where Írime lay sleeping and sighed heavily. "She is the only one of her brothers and sisters who remains." He turned back to Legolas and Carandoliel, the latter having clasped Legolas' hand tightly.

            "When Morgoth learned of the Seers he commanded that they all be seized. The men, Menelo, Erucalo, Callo, and Ohtallo were killed upon their capture, for they were strong and fought without thought of surrender. The four daughters however, Arcalime, Melime, Calime, and Írime, were brought to the feet of Morgoth himself. As a gesture towards his high-ranking officers, he gave each of them one daughter...Sauron received Írime.

"The other three were killed when Belirand was sent asunder, leaving only Írime alive out of the ancient Seers. Sauron had no use for her and so sent her to work in the tunnels of Dol Guldur, leaving her there to die when he abandoned it for Mordor." 

"How is it that you know so much when we are all stumbling about in the dark?" Legolas asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow. Nevturar shifted uncomfortably before speaking again, obviously desiring not to answer the question.

            "I am a descendant of the house of Erucalo, second son of the Eight. As to how I knew of Írime and came to find her I would rather not speak of. Suffice to say she cannot be kept here any longer- I wish to take her away from this place." Legolas stood and Nevturar rose with him.

            "I cannot allow that."

            "But don't you see? Can't you see how horrible this place is for her? She has seen something," he lowered his voice to a whisper. "She has seen something terrible…her eyes- her only gifts, she has tried to claw them out- to blind herself. I do not know what she senses or what she sees…but it is terrible beyond our comprehension. Don't you see I must take her away from here? She is frightened to death!" Legolas' head was spinning. What was he to do? Trust this servant and his fantastical story? It had all made sense however, all but…

            "She touched my eyes- gave me her vision." Nevturar's eyes shot up at Legolas as well as Carandoliel's. "I could see the colors…" Nevturar furrowed his brow and turned to look towards Írime. 

            "Her sight is a rare power- not to be used lightly. She meant for you to see something…something unusual. Did you?" 

            {The gray mists.} Legolas turned to look at Carandoliel and realized she was trembling all over. He wrapped his arm about her and she fell into her familiar hold in his shoulder. Why should he terrify her further?

            "Nothing- save the brilliant colors surrounding everyone and everything." Nevturar twisted his mouth and deepened the creases above his eyes.

            "She wanted you to see…something." Suddenly, a sharp rap on the antechamber door shocked all of them and even woke the sleeping Írime, who immediately ran to the side of Nevturar and clung to him. The knocking came again and her white eyes opened wide with fear. Instead of waiting for a response, the interloper burst through the door and into the room, causing Írime to scream and throw her hands frantically around Nevturar's neck.

            "Araorë."


	20. Coll

**Coll**

            Araorë filled the archway, his eyes a mixture of confusion and anger. He looked upon Nevturar, hugging Írime closely as she continued to press closer to him and never removing her eyes, now glowing dull amber, away from Araorë.  

            "What is she doing in here?" He turned towards Legolas, anger building in the darkening lines of his face. Legolas could make no reply…how was he to answer? After a few moments of heavy silence, Araorë strode across the room and stretched out his arm to grab Írime. An inhuman shriek rose from her throat and cut into Legolas' ears, causing them to ring painfully. She clawed frantically at Nevturar, who made no motion to release her.

            "Give her to me, boy." Nevturar looked to Legolas and Carandoliel, neither of them making any efforts to move or help. He returned his eyes, now the same vibrant blue they had been upon his arrival, to Araorë's face. The latter twisted his mouth into a grimace of anger as he demanded again that Nevturar deliver Írime.

            "No! She can see you…and she is terrified of what she sees." Araorë lunged at the pair and managed to grab hold of Írime's flailing wrist. He twisted it round and she shrieked in pain. Suddenly a heavy object struck Araorë across his back and he turned to find Legolas holding the broken remains of a wooden writing box. 

            "Stay out of this Legolas!" He bellowed, still pulling at Írime's wrist while Nevturar frantically pulled her in the opposite direction. The woman looked grotesquely like a rag doll between the muzzles of two wild dogs. She was screaming and crying, attracting a crowd to the prince's doorway. Suddenly, a voice rose above the others and silenced the room immediately.

            "Enough!" All eyes turned towards Thranduil, who had entered unnoticed during the chaos. Araorë stood immediately and bowed to the king, speaking in a hurried voice:

            "My Lord, I came merely to retrieve my patient. When she was discovered missing I feared for her life. This peasant withheld her from me- he provoked the fight." Nevturar turned an incredulous eye towards Araorë who was now sporting a sly grin. Thranduil turned to Legolas, awaiting an explanation, which was not forthcoming. He looked down at Írime, who now sat cradled in Nevturar's arms, weeping and holding her wrist that Legolas was certain had been broken. 

            "Take her to the healers and mend her wrist." He spoke to Nevturar with serious gravity in his voice. "Will she harm others under your care?" Nevturar shook his head violently no and persuaded Írime to her feet. As they passed through the room Araorë fixed the young elf with a look Legolas could mistake for nothing less than unbridled hatred.

~*~


	21. Thinn

Thinn 

            {Death.} 

Every time Legolas closed his eyes he heard the word as clearly as though Írime were speaking it into his ear again. Is that what their colors meant…death? It could not be so, he refused to believe it was so. Írime could not predict the future…could she? Legolas' head swam with questions and doubts as he stood patiently outside the entryway to his father's private chambers. After the evening's activities, Thranduil had summoned Legolas for what the prince feared would be a chastising lecture. After all, he had told his father he would not interfere with Írime.

            "The King will see you now." Legolas nodded as Nesséro, the king's manservant, ushered him through to Thranduil's' private study. Legolas' only memories of this room had been when his father had wished to speak in private of matters of great importance. It was where the imprisonment of Gollum had been discussed, where Thranduil had asked him to travel to Rivendell and speak with Lord Elrond, where Legolas had come to his father to ask for his blessing upon his marriage to Carandoliel. All of the important events of his life had happened within the five walls of his father's room. It had also housed however, every punishment he had received as a child and every lesson he had learned as a man.

            "Come in, Legolas." His father's voice sounded tired, spent, and Legolas found thoughts of Írime pushed to the back of his mind for the time being. Once inside, the familiar smell of cool stone greeted his nose and the temperature dropped into a pleasant coolness. Thranduil stood at the foot of a painting depicting Legolas' mother. Her ivory skin and warm smile seemed to greet Legolas every time he came into the room.

            "Yes father?" Thranduil's shoulders seemed weighed by a terrible burden and most unlike the elf Legolas had known all his life, he was leaning forward slightly, as though he might fall over any minute.

            "I asked that you not disturb Araorë or the woman. Was I asking too much?" Legolas' eyes ashamedly fell to the ground as he heard his father's approaching footsteps.

            "Age has granted me patience; patience I did not have in my youth- as you do not. You are no longer a boy Legolas, and a man can honor his promises." Legolas' eyes remained fixed upon the floor, shame flooding his neck with blood.

            "Look at me." He reluctantly drew his eyes up towards his father and found that Thranduil was not angry, but deeply disappointed and frustrated. Legolas thought to explain but stopped himself, realizing that his excuses were something that should remain with his childhood.

            "Why did you disobey me?" Legolas thought of the conversation in the library, and the questions it had inspired- questions he had to have answers to. 

            "I spoke with Araorë about the woman…I felt he was incorrect about her. She had spoken to me before…I thought she might again." Thranduil stopped his pacing and stared down at Legolas.

            "She spoke to you?" Legolas nodded.

            "In the Westron Tongue. She spoke with me again when I went to her." 

            "What were her words?" 

            {Death…The man with black eyes…Light!…The colors…colors…}

            "She said her name was Írime." Thranduil motioned for him to continue but Legolas felt apprehensive speaking of the colors and Írime's unusual sight. He thought of Araorë's explanation of the woman and then of Nevturar's. They both fit together very nearly perfectly. Nevturar seemed to understand more about her past though than Araorë did…or did he?

            "Father, has Araorë told you where Írime is from? What she is?" Thranduil began pacing again, his hands clasped behind his back. He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully.

            "Nothing, save that she is a mortal from the caves of Dol Guldur. He mentioned that she was sensitive to light and should be kept away from all strangers- that was the reason for my request. Now, be so kind as to answer my question- what else did she tell you?" 


	22. Malen

Malen 

"Thranduil." Nesséro came into the room, his long face set grimly. Thranduil motioned towards Legolas and asked if his message could wait until he was finished talking with his son.

            "No My Lord, something has happened and you are needed immediately." Suddenly, everything seemed to happen in an instant. It was as though for a brief moment Írime's vision had returned to Legolas' eyes. The world split in front of him as neatly as if there had been a seam in the walls before him. Behind the two pieces of tearing reality the same searing white light assaulted his eyes. The brightness made his head swim before suddenly focusing on a dark spot and speeding towards it at a breakneck pace. As the spot came into dark focus Legolas' mind flashed with a brilliant light and he saw Carandoliel, lying broken and bleeding, calling his name in pain and agony. The haunting image was gone just as it arrived, but it's imprint was enough to terrify Legolas to his feet.

            "I must go." He ran out of the study, past the wondering gaze of his father and the unusually disturbed face of Nesséro. He flew down the hallways towards his bedchambers, praying silently that his premonition had been a simple, brief nightmare. He felt his legs grow weak with horror as he came to his door and pounded on the thick oak before bursting in.

            "Carandoliel!" He called out, his heart beating so feverently he was certain it would burst through his chest at any moment.

            {Where was she?} He thought frantically, running about from room to room, crying out her name in desperation. He came into her dressing room and found it empty. Having searched the last of the rooms they shared he fell to his knees, screaming her name into the emptiness only to have it return to him quietly. He glanced over at a small delicately woven chair upon which her gown for the evening had been laid. His eyes fell to the hem, the delicate pattern of the single threads, bobbing and weaving their way in intricate designs. The material was soft and light against his fingers and pinching it softly his mind once again flashed the image of her mangled body in his mind.

            "Legolas?" He spun around quickly to see Carandoliel, a look of confusion crossing her face, standing at the doorway. He fairly cried with relief as he rushed to her and wrapped her in his arms, kissing her as though he had not seen her in ages.

            "What is it?" She asked, still wrapped in the folds of his embrace and smiling.

            "Nothing." He whispered, kissing the nape of her neck and hugging her body even closer. He smiled broadly as he drew her far enough away to see her smiling face.

            "Nothing." His lips pressed down against hers and held there suspended. Time slowed to a crawl as he drew his long fingers through the mahogany cascade which flowed freely across her shoulder and down her back. She wrapped her arms about his neck and allowed him to pull her closer and closer, until nothing stood between their bodies. When they parted, Legolas looked upon her with a wondering glow in his eyes.

            "I do not know what would happen to me if I should loose you. You are more important to me than my crown or my kingdom…you are everything I could ever hope to be." Carandoliel's eyes seemed to open from the inside, pouring a wash of crystal clear water into her irises and causing them to shine like emeralds. She need not say anything in return, she simply hugged his neck and drew him into an embrace neither wanted to part from.

            "My Lord!" Suddenly, Nesséro ran into the room, speaking but briefly before leaving again.

            "The King summons you- Nevturar the servant and the mysterious lady were killed trying to escape into the forest!" Carandoliel's arms fell to her side in utter confusion as Legolas quickly took up her hand and together they ran after Nesséro.

            He led them towards the main entrance to the palace where Araorë and Thranduil, along with two archers on horseback were speaking quickly. When they arrived, Araorë motioned towards the two riders.

            "This is Sorontur and Galu- they were sent to chase Írime and Nevturar when they ran from the palace." The one Araorë had introduced as Galu spoke up:

            "We came upon them in a clearing not half a mile from the city gates- orcs. They were brutally cut and the woman had three arrows in her back. One of the beasts lay slain on the ground." Legolas felt Carandoliel grip his arm tightly and he whispered for her to wait for him back in their chambers. She nodded and left, grasping her stomach and trying to withhold her nausea. Legolas turned back towards the group.

            "Orcs? They have not been seen in Mirkwood for months now. They could not possibly pass the boarders of our land without our knowledge!" 

            "I know, your highness." Sorontur spoke with incredulous confusion, for he understood as little as Legolas as to how orcs had made their way so far into the forest of Mirkwood without their knowledge. "We were surprised as well- the guards will have to be doubled on the city walls if a traveling group of orcs is wandering about in Mirkwood." His voice sounded doubtful to which Thranduil now spoke:

            "You sound upset Sorontur. Is something troubling you?" Sorontur shifted uncomfortably atop his horse, exchanging a nervous glance with Galu before speaking.

            "Something was not right- something about the way they were killed. Come, I shall show you." The party made their way towards where the two bodies had been laid. It was quite a distance to the small hut where Írime and Nevturar now lay and Legolas noticed that the sun had begun to sink below the horizon when they finally came to the door of the toft.

            Yellow candlelight filled the doorway as the elves made their way inside. A curious sensation had been growing at the tips of Legolas' fingers and he felt he should be somewhere else. The thought was pushed to the back of his mind as Galu ushered them towards a long table where two sheets had been laid over the bodies. He pulled one back to reveal Írime's back- pierced in three places by deep arrow wounds which were starting to turn a dull, bruised purple color. 

            "The woman was not so unusual as the man- as far as we can tell she was attacked first and then Nevturar tried to fend off whatever killed her. Come, I'll show him to you…" The elves moved to the other side of the table, all save Legolas. His mind was working furiously, concentrating on the three holes in Írime's back. In all his battles with orcs and all of the wounds he had seen, he had never seen orc arrows so precise. 

            {Only elvish arrows are so keen.} His heart leapt into his throat as he looked over at Nevturar's body and heard the last of Sorontur's words:           

            "…was he carrying a knife? The cut across his throat could only have been an elvish blade…we are certain." The world fell into a blur and when it refocused Legolas realized with mounting horror that Araorë was no longer in the room. 


	23. Elw

Elw 

{No! Carandoliel!} 

Without thinking, he drew a long-bladed hunting knife from the sheaths strapped to Sorontur's back and lunged across the room, upsetting a small stool holding a vase full of flowers. As the sound of shattering glass met his ears he fumbled at the door, quickly opening it and reaching the full blackness outside. His eyes pierced the darkness, searching for Araorë in vain. Galu's horse still stood patiently by the doorway- Sorontur's horse now missing. Legolas threw himself atop the milky white steed and in his haste, kicked him sharply in the hindquarters, throwing the beast into a hard gallop almost instantly.

            {No…please no…}

            The horse's hooves pounded the soft earth and rocked Legolas' body back and forth as he focused on but one thing- reaching Carandoliel. Something inside of him had warned him that Araorë meant to do her harm, but his mind could find no reason for violence. Then he remembered Araorë speaking of his refusal to remain in Legolas' shadow any longer. Legolas urged the horse faster.

            The palace loomed up ahead, lights blazing in the dark night. Upon reaching the palace steps Legolas spurred the horse even harder, forcing him to climb the narrow stairs and enter into the palace foyer, hoofs clicking thunderously against the hard stone floors. He dismounted and ran down the hallway, turning towards Araorë's chambers instead of his own- instincts now guiding his footsteps. He reached the door to find it locked. 

            "Araorë! Araorë!" Legolas threw himself against the unyielding door, frantic with fear. From deep within he heard Carandoliel's voice, terror-stricken and screaming.

            "Legolas! Legolas help me!" Her words tapered off into a scream as Legolas drew the blade of his knife above his head and threw it down forcefully against the handle on the door. It broke away freely, taking the lock with it and Legolas pushed the door in, his face now contorted with horror. 

            "Legolas! Legolas!" Suddenly her cries were choked off and Legolas found himself stumbling like a madman across the antechamber and into Araorë's private study. The sight his eyes met was like a physical blow; Araorë standing above Carandoliel, her motionless eyes turned towards Legolas like the lifeless eyes of a doll. Legolas screamed out, moving towards Carandoliel just as Araorë held out a long sword, stained dark red with blood.

            "Ah, ah, ah…Stay right where you are, old friend. The Lady and I were just talking about you." That voice was not the voice Legolas' had known all his life. That voice was not the voice of a man he had considered his nearest and most trustworthy friend. Araorë's face was twisted manically and his words seemed to be coming from an existential force. They split the air and cracked unpleasantly upon Legolas' ears. Carandoliel's chest rose slightly. She was still alive! Legolas stepped towards her again and Araorë stepped between his advances and Carandoliel's bloodied body.

            "I said stay where you are. We have things to discuss as well." 

            {Perhaps distracting him long enough until the others returned will keep him from harming Carandoliel farther.}

            "What do we have to discuss…friend?" Legolas spat out the word as though it were a terrible taste in his mouth. He gripped the knife tightly in his hands, causing his knuckles to turn white as Araorë rounded upon him slowly, the same grin of satisfaction crossing his face.

            "How does it feel? How does it feel to know everything you have ever cared for is gone? She put up quite a struggle, you know- she was stronger than I had thought." His smile widened and Legolas thought if he took but a few steps closer, he could easily kill him in one strike. Araorë, sensing this however, remained where he was, his smile widening by the moment.

            "Why did I do it?" He sighed, feigning to muse nostalgically. "I had been thinking about this day ever since your marriage. I thought 'how unfair that of two friends, one should have everything and one…should have nothing.' I hadn't planned to do it this way…" He flicked the sword into the air in front of him, staring at the long red streaks marking the blade.

            "But Írime came along…and she wasn't expected, was she?" Legolas interrupted, watching Araorë's face. The latter's smile disappeared and his eyes, once a light slate gray turned into a depthless black.

            {The man with black eyes…Írime had seen it all.} 

            "Yes- how unfortunate that she happened to wander into Mirkwood at such a time. And what a pity about Nevturar- he had to explain everything to you about her gifts and her past…you would have realized eventually- you would have made the connection between the colors and her fear of me. Oh yes- she could see everything about me through those damned eyes!" His hand fell sharply, cutting the dull blade through the air. Legolas felt pure hatred running through his veins as his grip on the knife handle threatened to break the hard wood.

            "How unfortunate." Legolas' mocking tone enraged Araorë as he took one step nearer.

            {One step more…}

            "Don't you dare to mock me! I have endured your condescension long enough! I am tired of living in your shadow- this…this moment is my own- you shall not rob me of it!" He stepped once again and all in an instant, Legolas thrust his knife into Araorë's soft belly up to the hilt. A look of shocked rage marked the dark lines' of Araorë's face as he crumpled motionless to the ground.

            "Carandoliel?" Legolas ran to her side, turning her over gently as he felt hot tears spring into his eyes at the sight of her. Her long hair was matted and caked in blood from two large gashes on the back of her head. Across her right arm a long crease in the shape of a jagged "l" was bleeding freely along with a nick the size of his smallest finger on the side of her neck. Her green eyes turned towards him and a faint smile crossed her lips.

            "Legolas…" He smiled as well through his tears before turning his attention to her wounds. Working quickly he bound up her arm with a long strip of material he tore from the hem of her bloodstained dress. Using the tattered remains of her sleeve he managed to free a bundle of cloth and pressed it against the cut on her neck. 

            {Why did no one come to help?}

            He called out into the empty hallway beyond Araorë's door and then returned his eyes to Carandoliel, who had shut hers. Cradling her body in his arms he did not hear the noise behind him until it was too late. With a sudden stroke and using the last of his strength, Araorë thrust his sword into Legolas' back, piercing his lung and coming through the front of his chest. Legolas felt as though there was a tugging at his back just before the excruciating pain set in. His arms fell away from Carandoliel who opened her eyes and screamed weakly. Legolas fell backwards with his body turned slightly to one side and his arms lying across the floor. Blood began to pour out from around the blade of the sword and Legolas found he could only concentrate on Carandoliel- he could only worry for her life. As he felt himself grow weaker he opened his eyes and looked across the floor. The faint traces of a smile tugged at his face…he could still see Carandoliel's face…he could still see her eyes. 

            The world dipped into blackness as he slowly began to think…

            {This is the end…}


	24. The End

Epilogue

            Winter descended upon the realm of Mirkwood, bathing the trees in powdery finery and leveling the ground with blankets upon blankets of snow. This winter brought upon his shoulders a time of great expectation and happiness, for there was news about the palace that a child was to be born. 

             Arwen, the lastborn of the elven race, was to retain her distinction no longer. The parting of the elves from Middle Earth had married with the end of all births amongst the elven race. In Mirkwood however, there was much rejoicing as the time drew near for the crowned queen, Carandoliel, to bear her firstborn and only child. Silence filled the lands as the remaining elves from the forests of Lorien, their lord and mistress long since departed, and the few dwellers of Rivendell came to Mirkwood to witness the lastborn of their race come into the world. The news touched the kingdom of men, and Aragorn II along with his wife Arwen traveled from the far realm of Gondor to rejoice with the kingdom of elves.

            The first snows of winter were sodden muddy with footprints and worrisome lines of pacing watchers. A clear night brought with it a gentle snowfall, and upon the morn the race of elves welcomed their lastborn, Nuinloss, a prince destined to inherit the last blood of the elves in Arda. 

            Carandoliel cried as she held him in her arms, his tiny fists reaching for a hold upon her fingers and his large blue eyes turned into crinkly smiles. She walked to the edge of her balcony, staring out at the virgin snow and cradling Nuinloss warmly against her chest. Tears of sadness and not of joy began to slide across her cheeks as she remembered one who would never see his son, never hear his laughter. 

            Suddenly, amidst the cold winter morning, a warm breeze passed over her and wrapped her tightly, seeming to almost hug her comfortingly.

            "I know you are there…" she whispered the words to have them grasped by the warmth and carried away, heard by none save who she had been speaking with. "I love you so much…and I miss you terribly."  Carandoliel turned her eyes to her now sleeping baby son, to Legolas' sleeping son. "He looks so much like you." The warmth ran across her cheeks, drying her tears and hugging Nuinloss as he rested into a calm sleep. As soon as it came…the wind left, taking with it its comfort and replacing it with the brisk morning wind rolling across the trees of Mirkwood. Carandoliel turned to reenter her bedchambers, catching one final glance at the snowy landscape as an unseen wind danced with the downy morning powder.

            "Time will bring the summer again…" She whispered to Nuinloss, who had awoken again and turned his eyes towards the open window. "Time shall bring all things about in their own way…"

The End

*Author's Final Note:

            This is the second draft of the ending I had planned for this story. I had originally intended to end this with the previous chapter, but I found that I wished to have better closure with Carandoliel and the aftermath of Araorë's betrayal. I can honestly say that this was meant to be my first tentative steps into the "mystery" genre…although I found it to be much harder than I originally thought. My scant characters left no room for conjecture as to whom the ultimate "bad guy" was. Oh well, better luck next time I guess! In any event, I hope you enjoyed this…I know that I truly enjoyed writing it- It has become one of my personal favorites. Thank you to all of my reviewers- you are all peaches and you are also my inspirations! :oD 


End file.
